What Dreams May Come
by xXStillnessandStrikexX
Summary: The dead are supposed to be empty inside, they feel no remorse, no emotion; everything they once were is now gone. In order for humanity to survive the dead must be buried. If that is the case, why did R stop himself from killing her? Why is it that seeing her smile makes him want to touch her, hold her, and protect her? If R is empty and feels nothing, why is he falling for her?
1. Chapter 1

There's that old saying that we never understand the value of something until it's gone. Everything that I have, everything that I ever was is gone. I have no memory of who I am or of my life before the shit hit the fan and caused me to walk aimlessly about with a severe hunger issue. I don't know my favorite colour, whether or not I like chocolate or vanilla or if I take sugar in my coffee. Hell I don't even eat chocolate or drink coffee. My diet tends to demand beating hearts, warm flesh, and the stuff horror movies are made of. Is it bad to say that my mouth is watering a little when I think of that?

What I do know, however, is that I'm dead and there is nothing I can do about it. I can only prevent myself from slipping deep down into despair like some do and end up becoming a boney. Bonies are those rotting skeletons that have the tendency of popping up at the worst of times and ruining your day. And when I mean by ruining I mean you running for your life before getting thrown to the ground and your face torn off clean from your skull, I can't really think of anything worse ruining your day. When a zombie (I prefer the living impared) gives up the last bit of life they have left, they peel away their outer selves and become just like the rest of the morbid horde: skinny, decomposed and fucking scary. I try to avoid them even though I know they wont kill me, I'm already dead, but if I had a beating heart then there would be a problem, I would be screwed, then dead, and back to where I started, a zombie.

Basically what I end up thinking at the end of the day, as I'm sitting in my airplane, which I'm quite proud in calling my home, is this: If I can't even so much as remember my name, then I have virtually nothing. If that's the case then I must value nothing, because I can't remember if I had anything in the first place to lose.

So why is it that I still feel like something's missing? Why am I so curious about the world around me? Especially if all I see is the dead walking around without a destination in mind. I guess this is why I still bother thinking about things, like why that man is dead in the first place or why that women chose that type of dress to wear, it's obviously too formal for a walk in the airport. But what do I know? I have this vacant feeling inside me that I can't seem to fill; I can't fill it with questions or answers because I've got too many questions but not enough answers, there has to be a balance in life. Maybe if I straighten up more when I walk, or add some more colour to my pale gray skin, I'll get some sense of balance; a shower might work too, I try not think about how badly I must smell right now. Once again I remind myself that I'm dead and none of this should matter to me; but it does matter to me so I try to find a happy medium. Being dead isn't so bad, it's lonely and dull, but it could be worse.

I walk towards the only friend I have left, I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine but he still ended up being the closest thing I have to a friend. If it came down to addressing one another I was simply to be called R, and he was M. It was the only thing that either of us could remember of our past, the first letter to our names. It's funny how that works out.

We don't exactly have conversations, the closest I can get to describing our little talks is a series of grunts and subtle expressions; but we tend to understand each other so I guess that is all that matters. On some occasions we even form words. Not sentences but words, I don't even think I'm capable of sentences but then again I don't think I've tried.

This ended up being one of those occasions.

"Hun…hungry." I managed to say. M turned to me with dull understanding in his eyes; I always liked to think that his mind was as active as mine. I wondered whether or not he was swimming in as many questions as I was.

"City." he replied. I nod, wanting nothing more then to fill my stomach. It was a long walk to our destination, but we will manage, I've got nothing waiting for me and time is not an issue when you're dead.

However there were gatherers that we had to consider when we ventured out. Those who escaped the plague and still possessed a beating heart had enclosed themselves behind large concrete walls; I would do the same if there were an army of the ex-living wishing to eat me. There were groups that would leave the commune to scavenge for supplies, they were the ones we usually hunted, and of course, they always came prepared. One shot in the head and we are most definitely dead, more so then we already are. I'm glad that most of those I've come up against were terrible shots. A bullet in the shoulder was fine by me, getting shot in the stomach was even better, I'm not using it so why not use it for target practice? Even though I have been lucky, it didn't mean I was any less careful. I'm dead not stupid.


	2. Chapter 2

"Iris, what are you doing up there?" Miranda called out to me as I sat on top of the wall, with my feet dangling down the other side.

"Getting some fresh air" I called out as I swung my feet back over the edge and gripped the ladder that will bring me back to reality. My hair was short, pixie style, which left less for the wind to blow as I came down but it allowed for less of a chance for decaying fingers to grab me by the hair, and bring me down to inevitable doom. Normally If I couldn't be found within the city it was more then likely that I was on top of the wall gazing outwards.

I was left mostly to my imagination these days, having been locked behind a wall for my own safety. So when I sit on top of that wall I imagine I'm somewhere else; it didn't have to be the beach or some fancy restaurant, I just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere. I didn't bother to imagine myself with my family or prince charming; my family was killed when the outbreak first happened and they were never coming back, and there was no such thing as prince charming. There was Commander stiff-ass but no prince charming.

I still had hope that things will change and that I would not have to reside in a box but have the ability to venture out towards I didn't care where. Anything was better then here. There was nothing left for me, aside from a few friends. Yet I was the type to never give up and to never surrender; though some days I wondered what happened if I did give up. But those moments always passed and I was back to helping whenever I could and going out to gather supplies. I like to think I'm strong willed but it's mostly my hope that drives me, hope for the future.

I jumped from the ladder and faced Miranda,

"What's up?"

"Were going out, we need more canned goods and medical supplies…you up for the job?" she asked with a smirk. Miranda didn't have to ask me, I was always ready to scavenge; it allowed for me to leave the wall, at least for a short time, and shuffle of this mortal coil we call life, I always felt refreshed after I've scavenge.

We gathered our bags and headed towards the entrance. Four other residents accompanied Miranda and myself, each varied in age and style, but all had the same purpose: to hunt and to survive. There was only one familiar face other then Miranda, his name was Keith. I knew him before the plague even started. Keith lived on the same street as my family and I; he had pulled me from the horde of corpses and kept me safe until the wall was built. Keith saw my family die just like I did; I guess you could say it was a bonding experience, as morbid as that is. This was eight years ago, I am 23 and capable of looking after myself, though it didn't stop him from checking up on me every once and a while.

Each of us were handed a weapon, a Robinson Armament XCR was pushed into my hands along with a few extra ammo magazines. I'll probably need it all. I never liked guns, they were far too loud and I always felt a pang of remorse course through me whenever I shot a corpse right between the eyes. Even though they were trying to devour me, they were still somebodies mother, or father, a wife or husband. If my lover ever fell under the plague I would still shoot them but I would be very conflicted about it.

We stood before a large screen that flickered to life showing us the same video that everyone must see before they leave the commune: Grigio, the leader of our haven, explained bluntly that a corpse was nothing inside, they felt no remorse, no emotion; we were to push away the fact that they were once human and to shoot them square in the head. He thanked us for our services. I could remember my first thoughts when I saw this video: what a load of shit. Deep down I knew that the dead still felt something, I didn't know what, but they were not empty. I refused to believe that you could lose everything that makes you human when you die. I had turned my IPod on as soon as I saw the screen flicker; I hated that video as much as I hated being confined within this city. My frustrations were soon forgotten when the door to the wall opened, allowing for my fellow scavengers and I to leave the safety of our home and enter a mass grave.

The streets were silent and still, I found it haunting. I remember when these very streets were filled with cars and people; children laughed as they held on to their mother's hands as they crossed the streets. Everything has changed. It was empty now with neglect hanging thick in the air, cars had been carelessly left in the streets and garbage blew across the pavement with the wind. The eerie part of it all was that there were no ghosts. There is only silence.

The storefronts surrounding us as we travelled have long been forgotten; the fruit siting outside of the Fresh and Easy supermarket have been rendered to black pulp with mold spreading to the wooden stands. The air was heavy with rot; I knew nothing fresh could be salvaged. I craved a good piece of meat or an orange but such a luxury were lost to us now. I've come to realize rather quickly that you never truly appreciate something until it is gone. I lost almost everything, thus my appreciation for what I have left is weighing pretty heavy on my shoulders.

We stepped through the doorway of the market, straining our ears to hear for any movement inside. A moment has passed before we deemed it safe to begin salvaging.

This was always my favorite part, exploring, because I never knew what I was going to find. My excitement was beginning to take its toll as I walked along the isles; my chest felt lighter. It may be pathetic, being overjoyed in exploring a market, but it is always the simple joys I keep close to me; the thought of finding a can of tomato soup thrilled me, I could taste it now, a warm sensation making it's way down to my stomach with a hint of pepper on my tongue. I find it amusing now that once upon a time I thought having a laptop was a luxury but now a small 250ml can of red gold is what stirs me awake.

My bag was beginning to fill with simple treasures; batteries, shampoo, body lotion, ibuprofen, Polysporin, bandages, all the things we take for granted but are in high demand now. I rounded the corner and entered the next Isle; a smile began to spread across my face as I saw dozens of deep shelves stocked with cans. Miranda was at the other end of the isle, working her way up; she had armed herself with a shopping cart and was filling it to the brim with whatever she could get her hands on.

"I've missed that smile," she said as she glanced towards me. I grinned,

"You should know by now what gets me hot and bothered"

"A can of corn beef hash?" she asked, I rolled my eyes,

"An adventure, and this is as close to one as I'm going to get, besides you know I like to dig around." I stopped by a shelf; the small tag at the front was labeled "Tomato soup, 3 for a dollar". My mouth began to water. I bent down and poked my head into the shelf, there were 2 cans left at the back. You would think a break would have been handed to me by now; yet still I bend forward sticking my head in further and reached in, my fingers barely brushing against the can.

A thud rang through out the market. I froze in place holding my breath; my ears perked up trying to gather any other sounds. There was nothing.

"What was that?" Asked Miranda, I shrugged.

"It was probably one of the others" I called out; once again my arm was stretched towards the cans. Damn my short arms.

"No it wasn't…"

I pulled my head out of the shelf to see the remainder of our team walking down the isle.

"Did the two of you hear that?" Keith asked. Miranda and I exchanged a look and then glanced back at the others. That was all he needed to see.

"We need to get out of here, now!" he said. I growled and I launched myself back into the shelf desperately trying to grasp at least one of the cans.

"Iris! What the hell are you doing?" Miranda cried, "Lets go!"

"Just give me a second, I'll kill myself if I don't get at least one"

"Is your life not more important then a can of soup?" she cried. A crash was suddenly heard near the front of the market, my fingers brushed against the can.

"What else do I have worth fighting for? If I want tomato soup then damn it all to hell, I'm going get it" I yelled out.

I could hear them now, the grunts and growls of the dead. My heart was pounding in my chest; this was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. I was so tired of running. If I want something then I'm going to fight for it, even if it was for something as small as a can of soup. Foot steps began to ring through out the isles, there were a lot of them coming in on us fast, the faint click of the safety lock on Miranda's gun hit my ears like a ton of bricks. This was really happening.

"Fuck Iris! Hurry up!" Miranda yelled. I stretched further,

"I almost got it," I cried out.

The sound of guns firing cracked through the air like a whip. The scream coming from Keith hit me as my fingers touched the top of the can yet it didn't seem to register, someone I've known almost all my life was dying a foot away for me, and I just couldn't allow myself to believe it. I tipped the can over and allowed for it to roll into my hand.

A scream erupted from my lips when my fingers curled around the can and I was pulled out from shelf and thrown to the floor. A flash of white hit my eyes as a hot pain flowed from the back of my head; I had hit the ground hard.

As my vision began to clear from the chaos, I was met with a pair of dull blue eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

When the hunger begins to devour us we never hunt alone; when one of us has a focus in mind we have a tendency to accumulate a mass of bodies. There are no memos, no phone trees nor are there any invitations; I don't even think the expression _heard through the grape vine_ takes any precedence in deciding whether or not to follow. We just see someone walking with what looks like determination and walk in the same direction. It always seemed like a good idea at the time.

We are not exactly the quickest when it comes to walking, most of us will drag our feet or jerk in a direction in hopes of getting somewhere; I like to believe there is an art to walking, I've tried many different styles until one suited me best. Yet no matter what walk I choose, it still does not make me look any less dead. A few hours of walking had passed before we reached the city; the only thing that entered my mind as we moved through the streets was 'I wish we could move faster'.

The city was desolate, but I guess I should not be surprised; the world is dealing with a zombie apocalypse after all. I imagine the streets were once filled with shoppers and bustling businessmen; a few images of a lively world flash in my mind, they do not feel like memories, just pictures that fill the vacant sidewalks. My gaze turned to the corner of Miller and Waites and I see the ghosts of students crossing the street and heading towards the library. I glanced back and saw the doors to the library boarded up and the windows cracked. Everything seems a lot grimmer now; death tends to have that effect on things.

A soft breeze blew past us bringing with it a newspaper and a few pieces of trash. Our heads snapped to the right and I found myself taking a deep breath; I was entranced. The scent of life does not smell of flesh and blood, it is the essences of who you are; the life energy that you possess is what attracts us. The scent of life does not tickle me deep within my nose but pulls at the base of my skull; my mind is drawn to it, electrified by the buzz that radiates from living human cells. My eyes do not have to fall upon a face or a lovely set of curves, I don't follow a trail of perfume or have to see a full pair of breasts to want someone; I do not need a visual reason because the desire is already there; I like to think it's romantic, never having to be influenced by what my eyes fall upon. Of course what I yearn for in the end isn't exactly what _I _want, but my body thanks me for it, I guess that's a small win for me.

I do not like hurting people, you could say I am extremely pro life, but when you die and become what I am, there is this primal need, this hunger, that over powers you; everything you once were is quickly forgotten and the need to survive takes over. I don't want to think about everything I've done, I'm pretty ashamed of it actually, but when ever I feel that hunger pulling inside, my thoughts sing to me; Frank Sinatra's _That's Life _fills my head and some how I feel numb once more, I feel calm. This is my life now and I'll just have to accept it. Yet once I get passed the violent need, I find myself thinking that once again this is romantic, or perhaps even poetic. When I take someone, we are close, almost intimate, and we share something of one another. We share our companionship; for one short moment neither or us are alone. They will look into my eyes as I look into theirs; their light will soon fade and they will enter an eternal sleep, I ensure they will not die alone. They give me life as I give them rest; I try to comfort myself in thinking that I am giving them an escape from this mad world. I try to comfort myself with these thoughts, and try to find the silver linings; some days I just give up for a short moment, but then I move on and hope something will make the guilt go away. Once again I think "_That's Life"._

It's difficult to describe what life smells like because everyone has their own unique scent. Who you are will ultimately define the outcome of your essences; some will smell of electricity and roses while others will smell of ginger and ocean water. I have never found a scent unpleasant but then again my hunger will overpower anything and like hounds, we follow this new bouquet of life essence until we find the source, a Fresh and Easy super market. The doors had been locked and the windows covered with wood, but the scent was there, thick and tempting. M pulled at the boards uncovering the glass doors; he held a piece of wood in his hands and with one swift swing the glass had been shattered.

A miasma of life assaulted my senses as the glass settled on the ground. I closed my eyes and was submerged in lavender, salt, rosemary, orange, lightening, and rain water; I was in a wash of essence that could barely be contained. My hunger could no longer be controlled and neither could my body. I was compelled forward, M at my side, and ran like a predator towards it's prey. We veered to the left and launched down an aisle of canned food where our beacon called to us; there were five that I could see, guns at the ready with hands shaking and sweat forming on their brows.

The feast has begun.

I feel rabid, my hunger has taken control of my limbs, I try to fight the urge to launch forward and latch onto my prey like a lion; there is this sensation inside me, telling me to let go, but I can't. I pause for a moment and watch as my comrades burst forward and bring two of the living to the ground. The crack of gunfire rips through the air as I kneel to the ground griping the head of one of our victims. I ignore his screams and wrench his neck and slam his head against the floor. I ignore the rest of his body and seek the most prime piece of a human being, the brain. Some would say the heart is the most important part because it keeps us alive and holds the deepest and most meaningful of feelings; yet the brain allows us to recognize those feelings, to feel emotion, it allows us to hold on to memories that make us feel human. With the brain we become more then simple life forms, but most of all, it will allow me to feel human again. If I consume a brain the memories it holds will be given to me, like a film reel in my head, I will relive those memories as if they were my own. For one short moment I feel significant, I become warm and I feel happiness, pain, lust, and grief, I feel like I belong; when I feast on a mind, I am granted a single moment of life and that is all I want in this meaningless existences. I want to feel alive.

I crack open the man's skull like an egg and reach inside; my donor's brain was warm and alight with memories.

I bring it to my lips and take a bite.

_I am a man in his thirties. I can feel the wind blowing through my hair and smell the salt of the ocean water. The fish are not biting; yet I feel relaxed and sheer comfort as I sit back in my chair with a bottle of Guinness in my hand._

_I am a young boy with pain shooting through my arm; the tears are hot on my face as they flow like a river down my cheeks. I stare up at the tree I had fallen out of; I know that I will climb it again when the cast is removed._

_Her moans fill my ears as I quiver with sensation. My hand is caressing her breast as the other is laced through her hair, our bodies move in a slow intimate rhythm, dancing a romantic tango; I feel a deep hunger to quicken the pace but the look of sheer pleasure on her face satisfies me in a way that nothing else can. My heart quickens._

_I am forty-five and pulling a young girl away from her lawn. The spattered blood on her face is mixing with her tears as she watches her mother die before her very eyes; the screams of her father echo in the air. The girl is young with warm brown hair and large green eyes; she is my neighbor who has now become my ward. I begin to wonder what will come of the world as I drive the two of us away as quickly as I could; I feel like nowhere is safe._

It feels like my entire body is humming. My mind is awash with images and emotions; it is overwhelming but I embrace and accept the electrical buzz radiating through my limbs. I feel exhilarated. I place the remainder of the brain in my pocket for later indulgence and glance around. My eyes drift close as a scent hits me; it was strong and comforting like the first sip of a glass of rich red wine. My body felt calm and my head felt lighter as the smell of lavender and lightening wafted through the air; I opened my eyes, my gaze falling upon the origin of this heady life essences. Her body was bent over with her upper torso deep within a shelf; she was reaching for something with a strong desperation. I stepped towards her, reaching out, and it was at that moment that I understood her desperation, her unbearable want for something; I felt that desperation for her memories, for her flesh. My fingers twitched as they gripped the back of her sweater; her scream pierced the air as I pulled her from the shelf. Her body fell backwards with her head hitting against the ground; I dropped to my knees and grabbed her wrists to keep her from fighting; I hate it when they fight, it makes my guilt that much stronger. I watched as her head turned to face me.

My body sat motionless; my hunger began to fade away.

Her ocean green eyes burrowed into my own paralyzing me; my eyes had grown wide in a pathetic attempt to take her all in. Why had I stopped? Why now?

She was beautiful.

Her lips began to quiver as her eyes grew red; she was frightened, but then of course, I would be to if I had a zombie pinning me down and gawking at me.

Shit, I'm being creepy; rule number one for being in the company of a girl, don't be creepy. I slowly release her wrists and rise to my feet. She remained motionless, her eyes beginning to water as the blood drained from her face. I have seen many things in my dead-life to disturb me yet seeing her, a lovely change to my uneventful life, on the ground shaking in fear, disturbed me more then anything else. Tears began to roll down her unmarred cheeks as I loomed over her. I didn't like her being afraid of me. A flash of images assaulted my mind.

_The spattered blood on her face is mixing with her tears as she watches her mother die before her very eyes; the screams of her father echo in the air. The girl is young with warm brown hair and large green eyes; she is my neighbor who has now become my ward._

"Ir…is" the name slowly left my lips. She was the girl, the young survivor that witnessed her families' savage death; no wonder she is terrified of me. My eyes seek hers once more and I find her gaze is fixed on me, she was still scared but I seemed to have gotten her attention. I try her name again.

"I..ris" that sounded a bit better but still needs improvement. I take a step towards her but her body stiffens, her eyes rip away from me as her attention is quickly captured. I follow her gaze and suddenly I have this sinking feeling inside of me; the dead had finished their meal and had risen to their feet with their noses in the air. I turn to Iris and take a deep breath, lavender and lightening; this isn't good, she smells too enticing.

I look around franticly until an idea formed in my brain. I dropped to my knees and dug my hand into the wound of a fallen comrade; I crawl towards her as she stares at the black dead-blood in my hand. I reached forward with my soiled hand and ungracefully smear the rancid blood on her face. She remains paralyzed as I finish tending to her; leaning forward I take a deep breath only to discover her beautiful life essence is defiled by the smell of death. Perfect, she'll fit right in, I hope. I peer over at the others and see that their attention has grown listless; the hunt was over.

I pressed my finger to my lips and gazed at her, attempting to hush her. Her body still quakes but gives me a subtle nod. I hold onto her wrist and pull her to her feet as I rise.

This is very unlike me, I don't normally rescue the damsel in distress; hell, I am the farthest thing from a knight in shining armor, a man in fetid sneakers and a stained sweater perhaps, but a knight? Even I can't imagine it. My hand is still wrapped around her wrist as I pull her towards the exit. We walk slow allowing a gap to form between the dead and us; Iris is looking down, her eyes never leaving the ground. I look at her in fascination; her skin is pale out of sheer terror but her eyes are bright with life, she is everything that I am not. A need to comfort her rises in my throat; I look around for inspiration but merely turn my head and look at her.

"It…be…ok." Amazing, three words at once, a new record for me. She lifts her head and stares at me, I can still see the redness in her eyes; I tilt my head in an awkward nod and wait for a response. Iris looks away and back to the ground; I don't think it's working.

The sun had long since set and the air was getting cooler, it didn't bother me because I can't feel it, but I hear the chattering teeth and see Iris shivering underneath her sweater.

"Almost…home" I say. She remained silent. My eyes move away from her and see the dim lighting of the airport. It's not exactly the most romantic place in the world to take a girl but it's better then nothing. As we arrive I once again take hold of her arm and guide her in a different direction. We departed from my fellow dead and head out onto the tarmac.

The airport is grimmer at night, even I feel skittish sometimes. I can only imagine what Iris must be feeling. I glance over at her and see her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The emergency lights only power certain areas of the airport thus darkness has become apart of our night life; I find it almost fitting to have this twisted mixture of light and darkness. We are born into the light and we die in darkness and I'm stuck here in the middle with a piece of both worlds. It sounds poetic but it really isn't.

We reach the stairs leading to my home, a 747 commercial plane, it's nothing fancy but It is mine and that's all the matters to me. I try to be the gentlemen and open the hatch for her, but Iris simply glances at me and walks in without a word, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. We stand silently in my plane, the glow of the emergency lights illuminating the cabin, the seats were filled with trinkets and objects I've collected to keep me company; I gestured towards a row of leather seats. Iris stares at me, a look of wariness and confusion in her eyes. I'm not surprised that she's confused because I am too but at least I'm trying to make light of the situation. I move over to the seat across from her row and sit down; I look up at here and furrow my brow, beckoning her to sit. Iris looked over at her row and sunk into the window seat farthest away from me.

I'm at a loss of what to do.

What ever you do, don't scare her; she already thinks you're going to kill her in her sleep. Don't be creepy. I turn my head towards her and look into her eyes I should say something.

"no…eat" I point at my mouth making a biting motion and shake my head.

"I…not…eat…you"

Her lips stop trembling and merely stare at me. I tear my gaze away from her and look straight ahead; I'm terrible at this.

"What are you?" her voice was small but I could hear it clear as a bell. I turn my head and look at her; Iris is staring at me with a puzzled look about her. What _am _I? I ponder this for a moment; I don't know what I am anymore, one day I'm eating people the next I'm rescuing a beautiful woman and bringing her home with me. I give her the best answer I could manage. I shrug.

She shakes her head and looks away muttering, "I must be dreaming or insane because this isn't real"

This is definitely real; I wish it was a dream, as sick and twisted as it is, because I want to wake up from all this and feel the sun on my face. I want to have Iris wake up beside me and smile. Yet this is real and I find myself wanting her to believe that I am real; I don't like the idea of being imaginary. I rise from my seat and walk towards her. Iris's head snaps to the side watching my every step, I reach out to her.

"Get away from me" she yells as she pushes her self into the wall. I reach over and take her arm; she cries out in surprise as I pinch her.

"What the fuck was that for?" she exclaimed. I don't bother taking a step back if she decides to return the favour. I wont feel it.

"Not…dream...ing" I concentrate, trying to articulate the words I want to say. Grammar is key.

"No kidding," she snaps. I wince, she's angry; maybe I shouldn't have pinched her. I take a step back and sit down once more.

We sit in silence for a while, her staring out the window and me staring at her. I want to say something but I don't know what to say; I have been alone for so long that I've forgotten what it's like to have a real conversation. I want to hear her voice again.

"Iris?"

She turns to look at me, her eyes were not flaming or full of mirth, but with sadness; I felt something twinge inside of me.

"Safe" I say, staring into her large green eyes; I point at myself and say,

"Keep…you…safe"

She scowls at me but her eyes held no anger or resentment,

"Oh really? I feel as safe as a chicken in a lions den." Iris stared at me straight in the eyes, waiting for a response. I sigh; this is going nowhere, if there is one thing I remember from life is that it's impossible to reason with a woman sometimes. At some moments they need their space.

I stand and walk to the old record player I found in the city; it was one of my prized possessions that allows me a moment in time to imagine I'm some place else, I don't care where because anywhere is better then here. I flip through the pile of records I frequent the most, searching for the perfect mood setter; I want something calming and beautiful. My fingers brush against a record and I pause. Perfect. Pulling the vinyl from its sleeve I place it on the turntable and pull the needle to the starting position. These movements come so naturally to me because I have repeated them so many times that they have been burned into my brain; I would sit some nights, for hours, staring at my records as they spin and radiate ballads and bridges. I would close my eyes and listen, imagining I'm dancing or lying in a field looking up at the sky. It was my escape. Some records I have played so often that I've memorized where every word is sung on each raised line. It's a great pass time.

I push play.

There is a pause of airy silence before a calm serenade of music filled the cabin; I closed my eyes and swayed to Chopin's Nocturnes. I breathe in the echoes of piano as I turn around and walk towards the front of the plane. I pause to look at Iris, her brow is furrowed and her eyes filled with questions that I do not answer; instead I say three words before I disappear into the night,

"Keep you safe."


End file.
